A chef who’s driven by perfection.

THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE PERFECT
Eric Banh’s Firm Opinions
by Bethany Jean Clement
photos by Claire Bloomberg

In which edibleSeattle visits the home of a local chef and reports on the contents of their refrigerator, snacks served, truths imparted and other miscellany.

THE SUBJECT: Eric Banh, the co-proprietor—with his sister, Sophie—of Seattle’s favorite contemporary Vietnamese restaurant, Monsoon, and two of Seattle’s favorite sandwich shops, Baguette Box on Pine Street and in Fremont. (Monsoon is soon to be Bellevue’s favorite contemporary Vietnamese restaurant as well; the eastside location opened in December.)

STATEMENTS OF FACT: Suburban afternoon sun streams into Eric Banh’s Normandy Park home. The open-floor-plan kitchen/living/dining room serves as a stage for Banh: “The kitchen is the most important room in the house,” he says with uncontestable conviction.

Banh moved from Capitol Hill to west of Sea-Tac just six months ago. He bemoans the poor selection at the only grocery store nearby, a QFC. He would’ve stayed on Capitol Hill forever, but for the unattainable house prices. “Capitol Hill is one of the best neighborhoods in Seattle,” he says. “It IS the best.”

SNACKS SERVED, SECRETS SHARED: Banh’s brought six kinds of dim sum from Monsoon: pork shu mai, barbecue pork buns, daikon cake, tofu paper–wrapped shrimp, lotus leaf–wrapped sticky rice with pork, and chicken feet. (Chicken feet, he says, are often called golden phoenix claws. He’s highly amused by this.) With the dim sum comes coffee, served Vietnamese-style in tall, clear glasses. People don’t think of the two going well together, but they balance perfectly, he says: “Food is all about acidity.”

Secrets of dim sum are shared: to steam at home, nestle the dumplings with a damp paper towel, cover with plastic wrap, and microwave. It’s important not to oversteam. Dim sum is all prepared ahead of time, but it should be steamed or seared to order, not rolling around on a cart getting cold, he asserts: his favorite place in Vancouver, B.C., Kirin, hews to this.

In Seattle, he won’t go anywhere but Jade Garden, where the highly skilled, Hong Kong–trained chef makes some of the dumplings on Monsoon’s brunch menu. Banh would love to study dim sum for six months in Vancouver, he says: “If you think about making pasta versus dim sum, you’ll have a new respect for the craft.” Dim sum chefs don’t make a big deal about their skills, either, he says approvingly: “They’re modest.”

A BRIEFING ON TEA: After coffee, midway through all the dim sum, comes hand-rolled jasmine pearl tea. The first hot water applied to tea should be a rinse, poured off, he says, then shows how the leaves of the pea-sized spheres of tea unfurl. He derides what generally passes for loose-leaf tea, all shake: “When you drink tea, drink good tea.”

Banh pours tea into tiny, clear cups. “In Vietnam, everything is little,” he says.

WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE WORLD: Banh holds up a bowl: “This is the size of a bowl of pho in Vietnam.” It’s half as big as what you see in Seattle. Portions in North America distress him: “People eat so much here that it’s scary to me!” He worries about the homogenization of the American palate, about the fact that no one cooks anymore. “Asian kids don’t even know how to mix fish sauce variations,” he says, pained.

“Of course I’m opinionated, but I think fast food is very detrimental to the North American life. It’s really sad.” When it comes to Asian food, people like packaged plum sauce, tons of soy sauce; they put sriracha in their pho before they even taste it. He wonders, “Am I fighting this uphill battle? It’s exhausting.”

ON BACON: The conversation turns to bacon, and Banh’s not at a loss. He bakes his bacon, laid out in a pan, at 350 degrees for 10 to 15 minutes, a superior technique in every way. To those that bake their bacon at 400 degrees for a shorter time, he says, “When I have a system, I do it so it’s more forgiving.” (And it’s true: Little is more distressing than a tray of burnt bacon.) Regarding frying bacon, he addresses the invisible masses: “I said, people, why do you do that?”

He’s pulling a bulk-size package out of the fridge: Nueske’s, from the Nueske family of Wisconsin since 1933. “This bacon is so good,” he says with both reverence and glee. “We’ll make it right now! Smell it,” he urges, holding out the open package. For raw bacon, it has a magnificent bouquet. “If it smells delicious, it’s gonna be delicious,” he says.

WINE, MONSOON, AND MORE: Banh on wine: “The best wine bang for the buck all year round: rosé.” It’s good with any food that isn’t heavy, and it’s good any time, he says. At Monsoon’s brunch, a completely enjoyable French rosé goes for $3 a glass, just because “It makes me happy when I see people drink in there.”

Of Monsoon, he says, it’s Saigon-style, some French and some Vietnamese: “Whether it’s right or wrong, it’s our interpretation.” And: “To make good food, you need good ingredients. There’s no magic to it.” And: “Food is about texture. Vietnamese food plays with texture.” Asians eat with their front teeth, he says, while Europeans eat with their molars; the former like snap and crunch and difference, the latter, butteriness, falling-apart, rich softness.

THE REFRIGERATOR: Last week, he demurs, the fridge was packed full. It’s still well stocked. In crisper drawers, there’s onion, potatoes, mushrooms, broccoli, green pepper, avocado, carrots, watercress for salad, heirloom tomatoes. He holds up a big bunch of Italian parsley: “I just love Italian parsley. Truthfully, I think I like it more than cilantro; it’s not as sharp, and I just find that cilantro has a much brighter smell than this. And it’s very flexible, you can work with fish, you can work with meat. The cilantro somehow just comes in with spice that’s overwhelming.”

A takeout container holds vermicelli with pork skin and grilled pork: “I bought it at one of the delis in Chinatown, because I like this pork skin—it’s the texture more than anything—and to do it yourself, oh god, it’s too much work.” The refrigerator door has a bungee cord standing in for the front of the bottom shelf, holding in various salad dressings, pickles, condiments, Trader Joe’s organic ketchup.

Wrapped in foil is part of a big rib-eye that he roasted and has since used in different dishes; he’s a proponent of leftovers, frugality. The rib-eye’s herb coating? “I put on whatever is in the spice rack. There’s no planning for me for cooking at home, no planning—whatever’s the mood will just happen.” There’s yogurt and a carton of 18 omega-3 eggs: “Organic eggs are truly way better.” Organic butter, too: “You have to respect your body. You notice when you eat good food? Afterwards, you’re happy. Think about it. When you eat a fast food meal, you’re just grumpy.”

That being said, Banh emphatically rejects the cult of gourmandise: “Good food—it’s just food, why do you worship it?” And should you desire a fast-food hamburger, he strongly recommends the fresh-beef-ground-on-site hamburgers of Seattle’s famous Dick’s: “Price and value-wise, it’s the best in town.”